


Maybe It's Better This Way

by WaywardGraves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Progression, Credence/Grindelwald only referenced really too, Cutting, Homophobia, LOTS of religious stuff, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, No Happy Endings For Anyone, No Magic AU, Not really a slow burn, Rape/Noncon & Underage only referenced; not between Percival and Credence, Religious Guilt, Suicide, both Percival and Credence are the same age, but mainly like 17 yrs, modern day AU, not really a fast scorch, so a mild wildfire?, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGraves/pseuds/WaywardGraves
Summary: Percival Graves walks into the church. It's abandoned now, no one wanting to go inside after what happened there, even so long ago. Percival doesn't want to be there either but this is for Credence. It's all for Credence.(AKA I'm really bad at summaries and the fic is better I swear.)





	

His hands are steady as he jimmies the paperclip in the lock. It’s been awhile since he’s had to do this but he rakes the pins inside the large, gold knob and the door unlocks with a soft click. The high screech of the hinges echo around the dilapidated room as he enters, closing the door behind him. The pews that line the floor are covered in a thick layer of dust as is the carpet beneath his feet; little puffs form around his shoes with each step he takes toward the large Crucifix at the front of the church. Walking down the aisle is a surreal sensation, and a wave of something that might be emotion passes over him. Percival imagines this might be how someone would feel on their wedding day or maybe during a funeral procession.

The moonlight streams into the room in patches through the stain-glass windows. They are broken in places from accidents over the years, no one caring about the abandoned building. Reaching the row of altar candles in front of the cross he searches around in the drawers for any matches that may be left but comes up empty handed. It’s not surprising, no one has been here in years. There are fights over what should happen to it in the local council meetings. The people want to turn it into park for the kids, the city wants it to knock it down and build a bank; Percival doesn’t give a damn about what happens to it.

***

He thinks back to when he was a child and his mom would dress him up in a little suit and tie and would bring him on Sundays.

“What are those candles for Mama?” He asked her one day after mass.

“Those are prayer candles, love,” she’d said, “You light them and God will hear you. Now wait here Percival, I need to go to the confessional.”

Confession. What a joke. You go into some stall and talk to some guy who tells you that if you say a few Hail Mary’s all your sins are forgiven. Is there a handbook all priests get or do they just spin a wheel to see how much you have to pay to get into heaven? That’s all religion is. It’s a bartering system. You don’t even have to feel bad if you buy your way out of it. There’re very few things you can’t do. You can’t reject God and you can’t kill yourself. It makes sense in a way, God gets nothing from you if that happens and you can’t barter when you’re dead.

During mass they’d sit next to the Barebone family. Credence Barebone was his best friend. He was a chubby little altar boy with a sparkle to his eye and a laugh that could light up a room. During mass Percival would make faces at him when he was swinging the incense to try to get him to laugh. Credence would always get mad at him.

“You’re going to make Father Grindelwald angry at me!” He would complain. Percival would just chuckle and brush it off. Credence would mope around when Percival didn’t take him seriously. Besides, what’s Father Grindelwald going to do?

One Sunday, Father Grindelwald had started off by having everyone pray for Harold—the local transient—who had apparently fallen down the ravine and drowned in the river. The church was abuzz with gossip that day and after service Percival tried to listen to the snippets of conversation the adults were having about what happened. He was always good at going unnoticed. From what he could gather, his face was smashed in and his teeth were destroyed so they had trouble identifying him for a few days. The police had ruled it an accident, they said Harold had gotten drunk and had tripped down the ravine but there were things others said that didn’t make sense. He hear one woman say that they didn’t find any blood on the rocks where he was found and another claiming that she had never seen Harold over near that side of town to begin with. They spoke with an excitement that seemed out of place for a conversation about the dead. They seemed relieved they wouldn’t have to drive by him with his sign anymore.

He waits on one of the pews for his parents to collect him so they could leave. His mother is talking to Ms. Barebone and his father is standing with his usual group. He noticed a man come out of the confessional and make his way to his father’s circle. Percival didn’t know his name but he had a smirk on his face and bandages wrapped around his knuckles. He said something to them and they all let out a chorus of laughter. Percival tried to make his way closer to hear what was being said but his mother took his arm and lead him from the building. What was the price for crime that severe? Were there any extra Hail Mary’s for mangling his face beyond recognition or was there just a standard fee for murder? Why did Father Grindelwald have the power to make that decision?

***

Percival drops to his knees before the statue of Jesus but doesn’t move to cross himself as one should do before prayer. His mother would kill him if she saw him being so informal. But she wasn’t here and she couldn’t stop him.

He rummages around in his bag for a while looking for his matchbook before finally giving in and turning it over spilling his wallet, a notebook, a pencil, a pocket knife, a pack of cigarettes, and finally his matchbook. Striking one against the cover bringing a flame to life and lighting the nearest candle. As an afterthought he rips a sheet from the notebook and writes the name “Harold” on the corner of the page. He lifts it and places it into the flame, watching the fire consume the name into nothing. The orange glow casts light on the stained-glass windows surrounding him. He knows this isn’t how prayers are supposed to go but he doesn't really give a damn about what’s proper any more. The knife. That’s also not something he’s supposed to do. But he picks it up anyway and presses it to his scarred arm until he draws blood. He inhales slightly as the cold steel bites into his flesh but he’s done it so many times by now that even this has started to lose its impact; just like everything else. He feels numb, inside and out.

***

The first time he hurt himself it wasn’t with a blade, it was with fire. It was a game he and Credence used to play when the latter got a key to the church. He was Father Grindelwald’s right hand, his favorite altar boy, “on the path to righteous salvation” the priest declared one afternoon and by middle school Father Grindelwald said he trusted him to get things ready Sunday mornings on his own. Maybe that trust was misplaced. The two boys would sneak out Friday nights and meet at the church. They’d light the candles and they’d time themselves on how long they could keep their hand in the flame. Credence always won.

“How do you do that?” Percival asked, “Keep it in for so long?” Percival admired at Credence’s hand in awe. The burned skin had flared to a nasty red color.

“I just have a higher pain tolerance than you.” Credence said with a shrug. Percival laughed and pushed his friend but he didn’t laugh back. Credence had become more stoic recently and Percival was trying to break him out of his shell. Percival’s father told him everyone goes through puberty differently and not to worry when he mentioned his concerns about his best friend. It took a while for Percival to truly grasp the meaning of Credence’s words but he was right. He had a high pain tolerance. He was so strong, stronger than he could’ve ever imagined himself being.

That’s why Percival never blamed him for not being a little bit stronger and coming forward. What do you even say when you find out what the local priest did with his altar boys before mass? The paper called it a scandal, everyone in the congregation put as much space between themselves and Father Grindelwald that they could saying that they hardly knew him and he wasn’t even that good of a priest to begin with. They all liked to gloss over the fact that at some point he sat with them at their dinner tables and held their hands as he said grace. What happens to your soul if you’ve been taking spiritual advice from a man who commits the worst of sins? Percival tried talking to Credence about it twice. The first time it was right after it happened, just after the start of eighth grade. The police had interviewed Credence but he had said nothing happened to him. It was the weekend after and the boys snuck out as they always did; Credence still had the key and that was not something either of them were going to tell the police. Having one of their usual hand-burning competitions Percival finally plucked up the courage to ask.

“Why did you lie to them?” Percival said, “The police?”

“I didn’t” Credence said, focused on the candle between them.

“Yes you are, I know you are.”

“I’m not. Stop talking about it. Nothing happened.”

“So what? He gives you a key and you only ever came to set up before service?” Percival said, disbelief evident in his tone. “Look I won’t tell anyone just—”

“Will you shut up? Dammit, why do you keep talking about it? It’s like you’re obsessed or something. Just drop it!” He yelled, tossing the candle at Percival who had to duck to avoid impact. The glass casing chipped on the bottom and cracked along the side. “You know we’re in a church, you shouldn’t curse.” Percival said. He bent down and picked it up. “Don’t worry,” he said as he moved back and set it in it’s placeholder on the table, “let’s just turn it so the crack’s in the back, no one can see the bottom any way.” And he was right, facing away you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. He turns back to Credence, hoping his anger had subsided a little. “You know,” Percival began, “it’s lucky you didn’t burn the place down. We’d have some explaining to do.”

“Maybe it would be better if it did.” Credence retorted. Percival decided to drop it, knowing when a battle was lost and not knowing what he’d do if Credence had decided to open up.

Both Percival and Credence wanted to stop attending church that week but they didn’t. Credence’s Ma would beat him bloody if he ever mentioned something like that (not that she doesn’t do that anyway) and Percival wouldn’t leave his friend in that place alone. The numbers have significantly decreased after the scandal and new priest. Sitting there among the parishioners was hard. How do you believe in a God that allows something like that to happen in a place that’s supposed to be his house? No, either there is no God or he just doesn’t care. Percival’s not sure which idea is more frightening. The church wasn’t a holy place; it’s just a building.

Once they got into high school it became the perfect spot to drink and smoke. By that time the church had shut down for an indefinite time; the business with Father Grindelwald had most people avoiding it and neither of them had ever told anyone about the key. The really devoted like Mrs. Barebone have taken to continuing worship at their own homes as they see fit. The second time Percival tired to talk to Credence about what happened was a night during their sophomore year after a little too much whiskey. Percival’s lounging against the leg of the candle table and Credence is stretched out on one of the pews, smoking.

“Hey man, can I ask you something?” Percival asked tentatively.

“Shoot.” Said Credence in between drags on his cigarette.

“The stuff a few years back. With Father Grindelwald. Why didn’t you tell the police the truth?”

“I thought I told you not to talk about that.”

“Yeah well, you should. In Psychology they said bottling stuff up is bad, you know.”

“I’m fine.” Credence said, his lips forming a tight line like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something else.

“You’re my best friend and I know you’re not fine.” Percival urges on.

“If you were my best friend you wouldn’t bring this up.” He sits up from his pew and snuffs out his light. He moves to get his stuff and Percival scrambles to his feet, knowing this is probably the last time he’ll be able to talk about it. He stumbles his way towards him, the whiskey rushing to his head and blurring his vision at the edges.

“You were always his favorite.” Percival said, he noticed him flinch at that, “Credence, please—” He starts, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Credence shouted the moment they made contact and Percival snatches his hands away like he had been burned. They stare at each other for an infinity, neither of them moving. Percival thought he looked quite like a wounded animal, desperate for an escape route. Like an animal Percival also feared that if he got too close to Credence then he’d strike. “What do you even want me to say?” Credence said, his voice low.

“Look, never mind, let’s just—” Percival began.

“No! You want to talk, let’s talk. What do you want to hear? You want the dirty details? You want to know that he told me it was something every altar boy learned during training? That I was stupid enough to believe him when he said God wasn’t the only one I was supposed to kneel before? Do you want to know that he used to tell me how beautiful I was?” Credence rounded on him then, Percival saw that tears were streaming down his face. He was visibly shaking and there was a wild look in his eyes. He began stalking forward towards Percival who instinctively started to move away.

“Man, please just—”

“Is that enough or would you like to see for yourself?”

“What do you—” Percival began but was cut off when Credence dropped to his knees and grabbed him behind his calves. “Is this what you want, you want to use me? I know it’s all I’m good for, I know that. Grindelwald’s little whore. You want me to be yours? He always said I had lips made for cocksucking.” Percival wrenched out of Credence’s grasp, sending him sprawling onto his hands. Percival carefully sits down in front of the other boy and puts his hand on the back of his neck, trying to provide some sort of comfort.

“Credence I—” He started but was cut off when Credence grabbed him by the lapels and crashed their lips together. It was less of a kiss and more of a power struggle between the two of them. After the initial shock Percival brought his hands up and pushed roughly at Credence’s shoulders. “What the fuck was that!”

“You shouldn’t curse, we’re in a church.” Credence said, but all of the ferocity and passion that was in him a few moments ago was gone. He took a few steps away and the look in his eyes was simply tired, he cleared his throat. “We should get going. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” Percival said.

“I just kissed you without permission. I know how that feels, so I’d get if you hated me.” Credence shot him a rueful smile. “You’re not even gay.” He turned away from him and started gathering his belongings. Percival could tell he was crying.

Honestly Percival didn’t know what he was, he didn’t really think about sex much. He knew he was supposed to and he didn’t tell anyone that he didn’t. He knew Credence was a good looking boy, having grown out of his chubby baby fat and gaining sharp cheekbones. He heard what the girls at school said about him. He had just never considered him like that before. That wasn’t how he expected his first kiss to go but he couldn’t say it was completely unpleasant. All he knew was that he cared for the boy in front of him.

“No, and you never told me you were either. But that doesn’t matter and this doesn’t change anything. You’re still my best friend.” Percival knew that he had to keep him here. If Credence left now he’d lose any chance of helping him, possibly lose fourteen-years of friendship.

Credence threw back his head and let out a mirthless laugh, “You are relentless, you know that?”

“I just want to help.”

“Why bother? I’m broken. My Ma doesn’t want me. You don’t want me either. It’s fine, don’t lie to be nice.” He put his bag on his shoulder and moved to leave when Percival caught his arm. This time Credence didn’t try to pull free. Percival looked at him. Wanting to reassure him. Wanting to tell him that he wasn’t broken, maybe just a little bent. Wanting him to know that Percival always has and always will this of him as the strong one. But he didn’t know how to say any of these things so he just kissed him and Credence crumbled in his arms. He clutched onto Percival like a drowning man. Unable to stop the tears he buried his face into his shoulder and the two of them sunk to the floor.

Percival just held him, slowly rocking him in an imitation of comfort he’s seen. Words began pouring from Credence as revealed everything he swore he’d never say. Percival couldn’t think of a single thing in reply. Not to the details that painted pictures in his mind that frightened him more than any horror movie ever could, not to the revelation that he still has nightmares almost every night, and not to the whispered confession that when Father Grindelwald told Credence he loved him and Credence said it back, and actually thought he meant it. Percival’s blood was boiling and he made a silent vow that he was lucky Father Grindelwald was arrested because if he had known about this before he’s sure he would’ve killed the man, he’s almost surprised Credence hadn’t. He remembers something his mother said, that it’s easier to forgive people for the things they do to you than for what they do to someone else. “Those acts are not yours to forgive,” she’d say, “only the person who was hurt and God can forgive them.”

However, he said nothing not wanting to upset Credence any further. He just let him keep him face buried in the crook of his neck and he gently carded fingers through his hair. They stayed like that for quite a while until they had to get home before their parents realized they were gone.

It might not have been the healthiest start to a relationship but the following month was the happiest the boys had ever or would ever be. To an outsider nothing would seem out of the ordinary; they sat together at lunch, they tried to sit near each other in class, they’d study together when school was over just as they’d always done. But the lingering touches when Credence would pass him a piece of paper or when Percival would intentionally sit a little too close while studying was enough to make their hearts flutter with something they had never felt before, therefore they didn’t try to name. It was perfect until it wasn’t.

Saturday nights were the best. Percival’s parents had taken to making it “date night” so the boys would get together to study, play video games, or watch a movie. One particular night they had started something on the television but it didn’t matter as they ignored it in favor of making out on the couch. They always took the precaution of closing the curtain so the neighbors wouldn’t see them, which means they also didn’t see Percival’s parents pulling back into the driveway since Mrs. Graves forgot her wallet. As they entered the house, it was impossible not to notice the two boys wrapped around each other.

To say that they were angry would be a gross understatement.Credence’s mother came and picked him up and took him home. He wouldn’t speak to him for the entire ride and just told him to go to his room. His parents ended up grounding him until he moved out and forbade him to see Credence again. The next time he saw Credence at school he was walking stiffly. When he noticed Percival start to approach him he just avoided eye contact, shook his head, and walked away. Their parents were so annoyingly paranoid whenever he had to go see other boys for any reason that Mary-Lou Barebone sent Credence away to military school. He overheard his father talking to Mrs. Barebone, who said he hoped that the school could help them “beat the gay out of him.” The anger that sizzled in Percival’s veins was almost beyond compare. Family is supposed to _help_ you.

He stayed that way for a long time. Anger simmering beneath the surface and ready to lash out at any minute. After being inseparable from childhood it was remarkably difficult to go about everyday life. Like learning to walk on a prosthetic leg, it was like learning the basics all over again. In his Junior year it was almost more uncommon to find him out of detention than in. Always in fights. Constantly enraged, bitter, resentful. He made a vow to himself that the moment he’d turn eighteen he would move to the city and start making a living. He would work four jobs if he had to but he would save enough for an apartment and the second Credence got out of school he’d come live with him. It was that hope that kept on the right side of sanity.

Which is why just three months before summer vacation something had to go wrong. His mother had never been a sickly woman; she very rarely ever caught a cold. So when the she went into the doctor after a few weeks of feeling under the weather, everyone was shocked to hear of the late-stage cancer ravishing her body. The doctor offered her treatment options but by this point he said they probably wouldn’t help much. He gave her six months if she was lucky. His mother opted to go home and continue living as she always had and for the next month nothing seemed to change. Slowly though she started spending more time resting than on her feet. Percival though the doctor may have been a bit too generous with giving her hose six months. One day while his father was out at the store his mother called him into her room.

“Love, come here for a moment please.”

“Yeah, Mom?” Percival said, poking his head through her door.

“Come here I want to talk to you.”

“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m just fine. I just wanted to ask you… “ She trailed off. It was very uncommon to see his mother at a loss for words so Percival just came and sat on the edge of her bed and waited. He looked at her while waiting for her to find what she wanted to say. Her cheeks were no longer plump but had begun caving into her face. In the same way her eyes were perpetually ringed with dark circles no matter how much sleep she got.“You and Credence have been friends for a very long time.” She began again, shaking him from his musings.

Percival stiffened at the mention of his name; his mother hadn’t mentioned anything about that situation since the night it happened. “Yes.” He replied. Thinking he isn’t going to like where this is going.

“There was never separating the two of you, always together, from the moment you were born.” Torn between wanting his mother to get to the point and not wanting to push her, they sat in uncomfortable silence. “You’ve been so sad this past year since he went away, I’ve hated seeing you like this and I know it’s my fault.”

To that Percival furrowed his brow. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t send him away.” “I know, I know. But I was upset too and I didn’t try to stop them from doing so. I thought it was what was best for you. But seeing you now, I know I was wrong. Please, please forgive me.” Fat pearls of tears started dripping down her face in earnest now. He reached out and took her hand in his, trying to ignore the way his hand seemed to close over her wrist twice as far as it should. He pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Mama, there is nothing to forgive. I was never angry at you, you must know that. I don’t blame you, I love you.” He see his own tears dropping onto the comforter below as he continues to pepper her hand in kisses.

She reached up and patted his cheek, “I love you too, you’re a good boy.” She gave him a watery smile which he returned. “Do you love him too?” She asked.

He took in a deep breath and thought, not wanting to give a hasty answer to this question. They hadn’t had that much time together as a couple and they were never free to be a couple when others were around. But they had known each other for so long and this last year without him had been hell. “I don’t know… I think I maybe do.” He says. “I’m not sure, but I want the chance to find out.” She nods her head as if expecting this answer.

“Go over to your fathers nightstand and get the envelope out of the bottom drawer.” She says. Puzzled by her request he moves to comply. After doing what she asks he returns to his seat and hands it out to her, only for her to push it back towards him. “There is five thousand dollars in there. I want you to take it and go.”

“What? Ma, what do you mean? I can’t leave you. Where’d this even come from?”

“Your father and I have that emergency money just in case. Don’t worry about it. I want you to go and be happy.”

“Ma, you’re sick. You should keep this for your medicine. What if you need it?”

“Love, I’m not going to be around much longer to get any new medicine and I don’t think I want you here at the end. I’d rather you remember me like this. And I don’t want you alone after.”

Percival doesn’t mention the fact that he wouldn’t be alone, his father would still be in the house. But the prospect of being left alone with the man frightened him more than he wanted to admit. Especially to his mother. Instead he just mumbled, “Where would I go?”

“Wherever you can, love. There are three things I want you to promise me.”

“Of course, anything.”

“First, I want you to promise not to waste that money all in one place. It will only hold you over for so long and you need to be a hard worker to sustain yourself any more.” He nodded his head agreeing to her terms. “Second, I want you to be happy. If that means waiting for Credence to get out of school then so be it. If you meet someone else instead that’s okay too.” Again, he gave her another nod. “And last, I want you to promise you won't come back for my funeral.” That one gave him pause.

“Mom—”

“No, you have to promise me. You’re father is going to be angry about the money and he will be stricken with grief. I couldn’t bare it if…” Trailing off once again. He looked her in the eye and an understanding passed between them and Percival realized his fears were not without merit.

“Okay.” He agrees.

“Go get your stuff. You should leave before he gets home.” He nods one final time, gives her a kiss on the cheek, and goes to pack.

***

Thinking back on his mother is hard now but not as hard as he thinks it should be. He had not seen her again and had only seen her grave the day before. He looks up at the bronze statue above him and thinks that his mother’s God must have a sick sense of humor. He picks up the knife once more and splits his skin again, above the previous one, closer to his wrist. Blood drips onto the paper he picks up and writes “Mama” on and he let’s it go into the flame. He feels like he should cry over her but he can’t. The numbness inside feels like its spreading, tingling at his fingertips. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss, that last cut was a bit deeper than he had intended. His mother was the only one who wanted to best for him but she was gone.

***

Following his mother’s orders he takes the first bus out of town to the city. It’s about a day's drive but he doesn’t allow himself to sleep on the ride, afraid his backpack would be stolen and he’d have to go back home. He wandered for a few days and spent a few nights in parks, getting handfuls of restless sleep, terrified someone was going to come rip this chance away. On the fourth night in the city he found a shady apartment whose owner didn’t question his age as long as he paid. He found a job as a waiter at an all-night diner and he was able to pick up some handyman work during the day. The first thing he bought for his apartment was a calendar which he marked Credence’s birthday on. He didn’t know how but he was going to go take him from wherever he was and not look back.

After about six months of semi-comfortable living Percival takes to looking up the graduation day on Credence’s school website. It becomes almost a ritual; he gets up, goes to his job, goes to his other job, comes home, watches a show on his (newly purchased) laptop, checks the military school’s website, then goes to bed. From the first day Percival started cutting into his arm. Each day that passes a new mark is made. Living without Credence has been hell, but at least this distracts him for just a moment.

At about eight months into his new life Percival goes about his day as always; wake up, job, job, show, website. It’s about five months into their Senior year, just over half way when Percival sees a news headline that makes the world drop from underneath him. **Teen Commits Suicide; School Closed for Investigation.**

He knows what the article is going to read before he begins but somehow he hopes he would be wrong. He prays to God for the first time in years that he’s wrong but he reads, “Credence Barebone was found dead in his dorm room this morning by his roommate. Students and staff are shocked at the tragedy that has fallen over our school. Mr. Barebone’s family have planned to move him to be buried in his home town…” Percival knows he was right and God isn’t around. That night he read and re-read the article dozens of time, hoping that he made a mistake somehow. He didn’t sleep that night and he just sat on his bed staring at the wall. That was when the numbness set in. He didn’t cry, he couldn’t but he desperately wanted to. He wanted to cry, to scream, to hurt, to die, to feel anything. Instead there was just a blankness inside.

The following morning he took the first bus back to his town, the day. As he pulled up to his stop he was once again surprised by the lack of anything he felt. He thought he’d be nervous to see people that he hadn’t in almost a year; or perhaps he’d feel anger at having to come back to a place he hated. Overall, it was underwhelming. He made his way to the only cemetery their town had and asked the lady running it when the funeral would be; it’s set for the following evening. Percival started walking, without a set destination in mind. His feet carry him as he is lost in the blankness that has consumed him—if people he once knew called out to him he didn’t notice. When he stops walking he’s mildly surprised to find himself standing on the porch of his house. He idles there for some time not really knowing what to do. He doesn’t want to face his father but he also has nowhere else to go.

He’s still debating when his decision is made for him and the door swings open, “What are you doing here?” His father asks. Percival just stands there and stares; the one thing he didn’t expect to do when he came back was speak to his father. “Boy, you answer me when I ask you something.”

“I came for the funeral—” Percival began.

“Yeah, I assumed that much. I’m not an idiot. Why are you here, on my porch?”

“I-I don’t know.” He says. “Look, I got nothing to say to you. So unless you’re here for some reason you can kindly fuck off.” His father says but doesn’t move to close the door. Percival is wracking his brain trying to think of a way to ask without his dad getting mad. Apparently, he’s taking too long. “What are you just staring at me like that for you fairy. Honestly, you—”

“I wanted to know if I could stay here. Just for the night? I’ll be gone the minute the funeral’s over.” Percival says. He’s always been hesitant to look his father in the eye but with the newfound nothing that’s consumed him he meets his gaze without issue.

“Let me get this straight.” His father’s voice has dropped low and Percival knew he failed at his plan to not incite anger. “You steal my money; don’t attend your mother’s funeral; drop all contact, making everyone ask me where you’ve gone, make me look bad; and now you come back here asking to sleep in my house so you can go to some fag’s funeral?” Percival didn’t move, old instincts taking over, but as he looked at the man in front of him the terror that used to accompany such situations wasn’t really present. The words hurt but it was a dull pain, like pressing on a bruise over and over again.

He was shocked out of his reverie when a hand cracked across his face like a whip. He fell to the porch, stunned. He idly touched a hand to his cheek, no matter what had happened before his father had never struck him. Maybe it was only ever his mother holding him back. “Go, I never want to see you again.” “Pa… ” Percival started, unsure of what to say. “I am not your Pa and you are no son of mine.” And with a swing the door slammed shut in his face. Percival got up on shaky legs and rubbed at his face, a little surprised to find it dry. Not knowing what to do he makes his way back to the cemetery. He wanders among the headstones until he finds his mother’s, wishing that he could speak with her again. But the ground is cold and she is colder beneath it and even if he talked to her she wouldn’t be able to hear. He curls up with his back against the hard stone and uses his backpack as a pillow and falls into an uneasy sleep.

The next day passed in much of the same haze Percival’s been living in since he heard the news and the funeral was no exception. He stands there in his dark T-Shirt and pants out of place among the mourners in traditional clothes. He doesn’t give a damn about what they think, all of them standing here pretending to care about Credence when they’re the ones who drove him to this. Mrs. Barebone give a heartfelt eulogy that would bring anyone who wasn’t dead inside to tears; all the while they constantly throw Percival dirty looks throughout the entire service. Night had fallen by the end of the burial and Percival says one final prayer, just for Credence and turns to leave but finds Mrs. Barebone’s blocking his path. Not knowing what to do he averts his eyes, mumbles a quick “I’m sorry for you loss,” and make to move by but she stops him.

“This is your fault, I hope you know that.” Mrs. Barebone says. The blank shock must’ve showed on his face—or she’s just being cruel—because she elaborates, “If you hadn’t touched him with your filthy, sinful hands none of this would’ve happened.”

“I didn’t—”

“You don’t get to talk to me. You don’t deserve to be here. You’re lucky I didn’t want to make a scene and have you escorted out!” She hissed, venom dripping from her words.

“This is your fault. You corrupted him. You killed him. Leave and stay gone this time.” She says then she spits at his feet and walks away. Slowly he comes back to himself and starts walking and it’s not long until he breaks into a full sprint. Just letting his instincts lead him he relishes the burn in his lungs. It’s only when he comes to the outskirts of town and is standing in front of the old building does he realize there was nowhere else he could’ve ended up. That’s how he comes to be sitting in front of Christ and the candles, knife in one hand matchbook in the other. He begins lighting the candles, all of them. One-by-one he lights, picks it up and looks at the glass, the puts it back down. It wasn’t until he reached the fifteenth candle that he found the one with a hairline fracture and a missing chip on the bottom. He lights it, writes the name “Credence” on his paper, and reverently holds it to the flames. He watches as the paper dissolves.

He grips his knife firmly and doesn’t just cut but stabs it into his arm. He finally feels the pain he’s craved for so long. His vision whites out for a second and he gasps, dizziness washing over him. He clamors to find purchase on something and grips the altar table. The entire mantle falls over with a resounding crash. By the time he realizes his mistake, it’s too late. The fire from the candles spread across the dust-covered carpet and are slowly licking their way up the dry rot walls. He tries to scramble away but his arm is bleeding profusely and the smoke is starting to get to him. He looks at the doors to the church and sees the fire already threatening to consume them. He considers making a break for them but the thought of having to walk all the way down the aisle right now sounds really hard. If he did make it through the doors where would he even go? He has some colleagues at work that he’s cordial with but he usually keeps to himself. He has a dingy apartment that he’s barely making enough to afford. He has no one left.

So instead walks and grabs his pack of cigarettes from where they were discarded earlier next to the Crucifix. The flames have begun to consume the outer pews and he holds one out lighting it with his good arm and makes his way to the middle of the room where the heat is less dense. He drops to the ground and the realization sets in.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to die in this church and maybe no one will ever know; for sure no one will ever care. And that’s when the fear sets in. He really doesn’t want to die. He really doesn’t. But he doesn’t want to live like this anymore either. He wants his Ma. He wants Credence. He wants to be happy. And everything, every feeling, every emotion, every pain that he thinks he should’ve felt before comes flooding into him at once. He grabs his bag and throws it as hard as he can and he yells. He screams as loud as he can. Sobs wrack his body and he feels his vision going fuzzy. He drops to his knees and fold in on himself, wrapping his arms around his body and rocking back and forth. The smoke grew thicker around him and the the heat somehow managed to feel both too hot and too cold. As he drew in great, shuddering breaths he lays down. The smoke from his cigarette mingling with the smoke from the blaze. Through the haze that's settled in, the thought of _maybe it’s better this way_  flits through his mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously familiar, and Percival couldn’t help but agree that it's right. Maybe it is better this way and maybe he's going to hell for thinking it but he doesn't care. He would do anything to hear that voice again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So this is my first fic ever. I just had this idea running through my mind and I've never had an OTP I was as into at Gravebone so I figured I might as well make it about them. Their background already fit the plot so well I just had to. Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism appreciated.


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